That Old Car Of Mine

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That Old Car Of Mine

By Oliver Rutter

There’s a whiz and a bang to my fitful old car
when I finally decide to ride,
As it is there’s a pang of best judgment by far
That I really should run and hide,
Though I tug at the levers and turn on the gas —
And think I can drive it like a consummate ass,
Yet the people all crowd in a clamoring mass
And police and the dogs even bark as I pass.
I buy wires, I buy tires, I buy patches galore,
‘Till the old roll wakes up with a scar,
How it ires, how it tires when the old garage door
Won’t admit all I buy that old car.
what with jacks and batteries and varnish and paint
To make it look decent, though my wife says it ain’t,
While the cost of adjustments and lights make me faint —
Oh I love your old car, but you sure tempt a saint.

With a wheeze and a sneeze it will come to a stop
In the middle of a railroad track.
Though I squeeze all I please the old engine to flop,
I must get out and push with my back,
And when flagging the passers they give me the laugh,
While I swear and I cry like a blubbering calf,
‘Till a tire blows up an this giving the gaff
Should end my sad story, but its not even half.

With a sniff and a snuff I start out for a phone
To call wreckers, or something like that.
What’s the dif, its enough to make a nanny moan
To be in a condition like that.
Now there are cars many and of more noble bore
That may be prettier and not cost any more,
Dear old car I love you with a love to the core
And when I am rested I will come back for more.
Now its done I must run up the mountain on high,
Just to see if ti’s going to last.
If the son of a gun will keep going I’ll try
To forget I have ever been gassed.
By the cling of the bug I believed was a car
So endeared to my soul by a bruise or a scar
And while I am doubtful, I won’t miss very far
In guessing I’ll finally be brought to the bar.

Morning Herald (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Apr 4, 1935

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